Decompressed

Wow, I feel weird. I've spent the whole day jittery and knocking things over. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me. I think if a car hit me right now I'd just laugh and keep on walking. Fast music sounds slow today.

Anyways, I had a good writer's meeting with Mat tonight. I really do enjoy our meetings, although they can be painful at points because my writing is sometimes really good sometimes really, really horrible. This is especially true in the early stages, because I have trouble conceptualizing a piece. You put a plot in front of me and some characters, and I can go to town, man. Tell me to describe a sunset, and I will have it back to you in five minutes. But if you expect me to make up my own plot, then you're in for a long trip. Jessie joked with me the other day, asking, "So when is Mat going to write your next story?" Even if I am feeling a small sense of disownership with these stories, it's my own fault. Mat isn't coming up to me and saying, "Hey, let me change that." I'm asking his help, and by God he knows what he's talking about. He once described me as a piece of well-oiled wood; I can't light myself on fire, but if you get a spark near me, I burst into flames.

I like the analogy, although someday I hope to own my own match.

Anyways, today was one of those days where everything I did was crap, so maybe it's a good thing I got an extension on my Wittgenstein paper. I feel like I'm wasting away in my own filth. I've got the rest of the night to finish rewriting 'Avanon' and revising 'Nione,' and then it's off to school for a full day of classes. It's going to be the best story I've ever written. No exceptions. The next few weeks will suck, but eh. Soon, I'll be in my new apartment. I think a change of scenery is just what the doctor ordered.

Blech. I feel dirty.